Ace
by turn-off-my-heart
Summary: The calling card of those without hearts. -HarleyIvy-stupid drabble-kinda thing. doesn't make much sense. rated m for implications of m-rated material. whatever.


Disclaimer: I do not own the characters in this story, nor do I claim profit from them.

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_Ace _

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_harley quinnxpoison ivy_

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There she is; soaked to the bone, red and black costume clinging to each curve of her body, standing in the doorway clinging to her right arm, favoring her left leg. Blood oozes over her lips, that ugly white makeup slides down her cheeks. The red of her costume is darker; from water? From blood? Both? Her eyes a dull with pain, bruises are revealed from the lack of paint.

And then realization hits; Harley Quinn isn't sobbing for her puddin', she isn't bawling over a "break up" between them. She's smiling; smiling. She's left him.

"I did it," she whispers over the roar of the rain, a hoarse croak that rips from her throat, "I did it, Red, I did it." She wavers; begins to crumple to the ground.

Poison Ivy is there to catch her. She darts from the warmth of her home, into the rain, letting the water hit her skin and hair and catching Harley before she hits the concrete. It seemed that cushioning Harley's fall is all that Ivy does.

"Don't be silly," Ivy murmurs, as Harley's hands cling to her shoulders, "you'll go back." _You always do._

"Nu-uh," Harley says as vines creep from the house and help to tug her inside, "I mean it, Red, I do. I'm not going back."

..

"Owwie!"

"Hold still," Ivy hisses, jerking Harley's arm back, "you'll make it worse than it already is."

"But it hurts," Harley whines, "what'cha puttin' on there anyway, acid!?"

"Anticeptic," Ivy says, massaging the cream in; Harley notices the pressure is softer than before, and she hides her smile, "if it were acid, you'd be screaming worse." She sniffs, turning up her nose in a way that's half diva, half super-bitch. "I'd rather not have my eardrums burst, if it's all the same to you." Ivy softly presses the final bandage on her arm, smoothes it down.

She's had years of practice, Harley thinks.

"There," Ivy murmurs, her green-skinned fingers tracing patterns on the white bandage gently, "all done."

"Aww," Harley giggles, "ain't'cha gon' kiss it an' make it better?"

"Harley," Ivy laughs, and the sound is so deliciously sensual Harley's heart skips a beat, "I think my kiss would make it worse."

"What about that shot you gave me?"

Ivy's fingers skim higher, along the skin of Harley's arm; her lips are curled in a small smirk.

"Are you sure?" She lifts Harley's arm to her mouth. Harley shivers. "Are you sure you want to take that chance?"

"Well," the blonde swallows, "not really; but I trust ya', Red, so that's gotta count for something."

"You're an idiot," Ivy says, "for trusting me like that." Yet when her lips brush over Harley's arm, it's nothing but warm and tender and it feels like the wound is healing already.

"Told 'ya," Harley whispers.

..

She watches as Harley slowly peels away the costume; deft hands reach behind her neck, slim fingers undo the clip. The suit pulls away, two halves splitting down the middle, revealing a slim back covered in bruises. Ivy can see where his fists have hit; there are raised lines of pink scar tissues where the Joker's left his mark. Her eyes follow the bruises down the curve of Harley's spine, to where the suit ends just above the curve of her bottom. Harley turns, halfway, and Ivy sees the black and purple colorations on her breasts.

_Handprints._

The potted plant near Harley's bed shudders; thorns grow on its branches as it responds to her growing rage. Ivy's hands clench as she stares at those _damn bruises._

"It didn't hurt that much," Harley manages to say, "I thought about you...that made it better."

"Made it _better_?" The words are hissed through her teeth. "_Made it better_?"

Harley flinches.

"If I thought it was you," Harley whimpers, her hands hold the suit to her chest; her hair makes a curtain around her nymph-like face, "it wouldn't be..."

Ivy storms forward, her green eyes like lightning. _How dare he, how dare he, **how fucking dare he**!?_ Harley lets out a noise, backs away like a frightened animal; her back hits the cold glass of a full length mirror. Ivy's arms cage her in; Ivy cages her in, and she presses her face close to Harley's. Her teeth are bared, and her face is twisted into something ugly, something cruel and horrible and full of fire; her nails screech on the silvery glass of the mirror.

"Talk," Ivy snarls, "talk, _say_ something, distract me or I swear, I'll leave right _fucking_ now and _tear him apart!_" Hell, she'll probably do that anyway.

"Red," Harley starts to say; she stops and shivers because the look in Ivy's eyes is _inhuman_.

"_Don't fucking call me that_!" Ivy roars, slams her fists on the mirror.

"Ivy," Harley whispers; the red haired woman hangs her head to let it rest on Harley's shoulder. She takes deep breaths, the sound rattling like a deadly growl in her throat.

"Harley," Ivy whispers back, pressing closer to the blonde woman. Harley trembles, taking deep, shaking breaths. Ivy's rage is like the forest fire she fears, all consuming; deadly. And Harley fears she'll be the dry timber, or the gasoline, perhaps. Ivy is still shaking, and a glance to her left reveals the plant near her bedside is puffed up, like an angered kitten; the sharp points of thorns glint between the pretty, green leaves.

"...Pammy?" Ivy's body stiffens again, the plant on the bedside table swells and Harley rushes to rectify the situation, "Pamela..."

"That's not me anymore," Ivy mumbles; her body relaxes and Harley's hands release her suit to grasp Ivy's smooth, green shoulders, "I'm not..."

_...not that woman. Not that human..._

"I know," Harley says.

Ivy presses a kiss, so gentle, so feather light, right to the side of her neck, where her pulse hammers beneath the skin. She expects teeth (teeth so sharp and painful when they sink in and oh god it hurts so much), but all Ivy does is kiss it, a brush of lips. Harley sighs in response.

"Pamela," Harley says, and Ivy shudders at her old name, her old life, "Pamela...'m tired...can we go to bed now?"

"Sure, Harl," Ivy says.

They don't move yet.

Harley doesn't mind; she rather likes the way Ivy kind of leans on her, almost like she's saying _I need you, Harley Quinn._

Almost.

..

"What on Earth are you doing?"

"I'm bored." Harley turns and looks at Ivy over her bandaged shoulder, "And I'm makin' somethin' for us; wanna see it?"

"Not really," Ivy chuckles, yet she walks closer and peeks over Harley. She spots a card (ace of hearts, actually) and sees that Harley has taken a green marker and colored two squares of it, like her costume. It's rather cute, in a way.

"See that, Red!" Harley giggles, leaning back gingerly and reaching up to wrap an arm around Ivy's neck, "That's my new calling card. Or ours, if ya wanna go into specifics and stuff, but, y'know; it's a little bit of us."

"In a heart?" Ivy asks, amused, "People might get the wrong idea, Harley."

Harley turns her face to Iy's and kisses her; deeply.

"Why Red; what kinda ideas have you been thinkin' they were gonna be thinkin'?"

..

A/N-And I ask myself; _what the hell is this!?_


End file.
